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Rock Street, San Francisco
Rock Street, San Francisco

He crept as silently as night, eyes fixed on his pray. His swift action allowed him to stay hidden. Inching slowly but expertly towards the house, he avoided any possible danger. Carefully hidden, he starts to lift the gun, positioning it carefully. Aiming it towards the front door of the house, knowing that’s where his victim would park. He sat there in the dark waiting for his victim. The chilled air ran through his spine and the wet grass glistened in the moonlight. A few feet from where he was sitting was the house.

It was a modern house with thick glass windows impossible to smash. The bright lights on in the hallway cast shadows in every corner. A good night, he thought, for what would come later. He heard a soft crunching sound in the distance. He turned towards the driveway, he could see the familiar red car creeping back up towards the house. Eventually the car stopped just outside the front door, just as he thought it would, and the driver turned off the engine with a quick twist of the wrist. There was a moment of silence as the driver collected his briefcase from the front passenger seat.

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Suddenly there was a click of the dented car door, then the driver stepped out of the car. This was his chance, he had been waiting hours for this moment and finally it had come. He noticed the driver was wearing a smart suit, dark in the evening light. He was wearing a white sheet with what looked like a purple tie, and smartly polished black shoes. His victim stood there unaware of what was going to happen. The driver bent down to tie up his shoelace, this was it, but he couldn’t do it, he sat there with the gun poised, ready to fire but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He had missed his chance as the driver was making his way over to the door, the small stones crunching beneath his feet. He placed his briefcase carefully on the ground beneath the archway to keep dry from the rain and fumbled around in his trouser pockets, then his jacket pockets but he couldn’t find the key. He turned, walking back towards the car in search for the keys. Still he sat there watching silently but then suddenly he remembered. He remembered what his reward was to be if he completed his ‘ mission’. Immediately he re-positioned the gun, aiming for the head.

He pulled the trigger and instantly his victim’s life was ripped from his body. He sat there watching his victim fall to the floor, landing in a puddle with a splash, just short from the door. Just short from safety. Suddenly he heard a dog barking from within the house. He had to get away quickly. In a flurry he gathered up his cigarette lighter, buried the cigarette ends and packed up his gun. He took one last look at the dead mans body, blood was pouring from the top of his head. Then he left, leaving the victim to be found the next morning.

He ran across the back garden, hopping over small bushes towards his car. When he had reached the car, he opened the back and shoved everything roughly onto the seat carefully covering up the gun with the blanket he had brought with him. He then jumped into the drivers seat and started the engine, leaving the property, never to return. He racked his brain for somewhere he could dispose of the gun. Finally it came to him. The River that flowed by his house. He set off towards a part of the river that nobody usually visits except for stray animals in need of a drink.

He arrived at the river and stepped out of his car, took a look around to make sure no-one was there. He opened the back door and took one last look around before he dived into the back seat of the car to retrieve the gun, he emerged from the car minutes later holding the gun like a baby. He had wrapped it up in the blanket so it would sink quicker. He walked up to the edge of the river bank thinking over what he had just done and then he threw the gun in to the water, away from his life forever.

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